


The Long Way Home

by FearlessinBlue



Category: Mighty Ducks: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Human AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearlessinBlue/pseuds/FearlessinBlue
Summary: Fifteen years after the car accident that changed their lives and tore them apart, childhood friends and members of the Mighty Ducks peewee hockey team are finally coming home for the 20th anniversary of their championship win over the Saurians. Through twists and turns, unexpected stops along the way, and dead ends they paths have once more converged in their hometown of Isboro. This serendipitous intersection would change their paths forever.
Relationships: Duke L'Orange/Tanya Vanderflock, Wildwing Flashblade/Mallory McMallard
Kudos: 1





	The Long Way Home

**Author's Note:**

> So I know that this fandom is probably old and maybe dead but I love these ducks so much so I decided to get back on my bullshit and create yet another human AU for me to immerse myself in. Review and Kudos if you're still here Mighty Ducks fandom!

Night had long fallen over Minneapolis when Will ‘Wildwing’ Flashblade wearily stumbled into his modest two-bedroom apartment. He let out a sigh and finally allowed the exhaustion that had been lingering on the edges of his control flow deep into his bones. Suddenly the false energy that had spurred him on through the workweek fled and his entire body felt like one big weight. He shed his rumpled suit jacket and neatly hung it up on its customary hook next to the front door. He dropped his keys in the little basket where his younger brother’s colorful keychain already sat. Relieved that he didn’t have to worry about his baby brother running around the city like the hooligan that he was. Wildwing wandered slowly into the kitchen where he grabbed himself a bottle of water and a piece of cold pizza from the bare bones of the fridge. He ate the pizza almost robotically, out of habit rather than because he was actually hungry. Once he finished his meager meal, he made his way into the living room where his little brother was passed out at an odd angle on their worn-out couch, the TV blaring nonsense, and lighting up the dark room with its eerie light. Wildwing shook his head fondly and quickly located the remote so he could change the channel and turn down the volume to a level that their sleeping neighbors would no doubt appreciate. He let the monotony of the news drone on in the background as he gazed down at the sleeping form of his baby brother.

Noah ‘Nosedive’ Flashblade was sprawled over the entirety of the couch, his long gangly limbs draped over the back and front of the couch so that he was practically spread eagle. His long golden hair was already a tangled mess from the typical shiftings and squirmings of Nosedive’s nightly routine. Wildwing felt a silent chuckle bubble up in his throat as he took in the almost childish way that his brother’s face was smushed into a couch pillow. His mouth was open and emitting a soft whistly sound but the most important thing was that he looked relaxed, peaceful. In a rare moment of nostalgia, Wildwing remembered nights like this when a young Nosedive would cuddle up next to him on the couch and they would watch reruns of famous hockey games. Nights like these had almost always ended in Nosedive’s face smushed uncomfortably into Wildwing’s side much like it was now. Wildwing reached down and brushed some wayward locks out of Nosedive’s face, and for a second his brother was 5 years old again. In a flash, he was once again staring at the face of a 23-year-old, not a child, but they were one and the same to Wildwing. Nosedive would always be his baby brother, his responsibility, his family.

Content with his memories, Wildwing moved over to the window and gazed out at the vast expanse of the city below and around them. Not for the first time, looking out the window and seeing dense buildings, asphalt and concrete felt… wrong. He shook off the strange feeling, but it lingered in the back of his mind, waiting for another time to strike. He ran a hand through his pale blonde hair and adjusted his glasses in a familiar nervous fidget that he had picked up in his childhood. His glasses were mostly for reading but he wore them constantly at work in an attempt to avoid the inevitable end-of-the-day headache that came from straining to read the small type on his computer every day. He could already feel that pounding sensation in his temples building up and with a sigh, he turned away from the window in pursuit of aspirin. Once he had dug the bottle out of their cluttered medicine cabinet Wildwing made his way back to the living room with the mission of persuading Nosedive to move his hibernation to the pit that was his room. For his own sanity, the anal-retentive man avoided ever entering his baby brother’s self-proclaimed ‘man cave’.

To his surprise, Nosedive was now sitting up on the couch, staring sleepily at a late-night cartoon that they had watched when they were kids. When Wildwing re-entered the room, Nosedive gave him a sleepy smile that quickly morphed into a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Wassup bro?” Nosedive asked through the yawn, pulling a small chuckle from his reserved brother. “You just getting in?” He glanced at the clock and then fixed his older brother with a knowing look when he realized how late it was.

“Yeah.” Wildwing rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “It was a long day. But I’m headed for the sack you should be too. Don’t you have flying lessons in the morning?”

He fixed Nosedive with his patented ‘older brother’ look and held out a hand to help leverage his baby brother off the couch. Reluctantly Nosedive took his offered hand and allowed himself to be shepherded to his bedroom. He paused at the door and looked back at his older brother. Wildwing was tall and broad-chested where Nosedive was slim, his hair was so pale it was almost white where Nosedive had long golden locks. If it weren’t for the shared golden color of their eyes it would be hard to tell that they were related. Wildwing had always been reserved and responsible, which had allowed nosedive’s wacky and often reckless personality to flourish. Looking at his brother now, Nosedive realized that it had been far too long since he saw the spark that used to live in his eyes. To be frank, his brother looked drained in every sense of the word. Wildwing was a shell of himself.

“Yo bro?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silent staring contest that had lingered in the hallway between them. “You okay man? You don’t look so hot.”

His question seemed to stop Wildwing in his tracks as he considered the question for a few minutes before answering with a heavy sigh and a little shrug. “I’m just tired Dive, no need to worry. I’ll be fine after I get some rest.” With that, he disappeared into his room and the door clicked shut softly behind him. Nosedive lingered in his doorway for another minute, staring at the closed door across the hall and thinking. He snapped his fingers as an idea hit him and he hurried into his room to dig up his old contacts. His brother needed a vacation and he was gonna make that happen. After all, what were little brothers for?

As the Flashblade brothers settled down to sleep, the heavy clouds that had been lingering over the Twin Cities for days released a flurry of delicate little snowflakes onto the city, blanketing the world in a layer of pure snow.

* * *

The snowfall was light by the time the last bus rolled into Minneapolis and the lone passenger stepped off and onto solid ground. His boots were expensive yet solid and worn and his equally valuable martin overcoat fit his muscular form in the way that only tailored clothing could. Slung over his broad shoulder was a ratty duffel bag that contained his every possession in the world. The only part of his body that was exposed to the growing winter storm was his face, and he adjusted the high collar of his overcoat in an attempt to protect himself from the biting cold of the innocent snowflakes. The man-made his way over to the main building and hurried into the meager warmth that the indoors provided. In the harsh lights of the station the man’s rich umber skin looked a little washed out and his tired dark eyes searched the abandoned station for somewhere to rest. When he caught sight of a cushioned bench squished in between two vending machines, he felt a flooding relief that was extravagant for such a modest couch. With his target acquired, Duke L’Orange sauntered over time the ticket desk where the late-night worker was reading a nondescript romance novel. He weaved through the maze of empty metal barriers, his wet boots squeaking on the tile floor, feeling more and more ridiculous with each passing second. When he reached the desk he took a deep breath, set his ratty bag out of view, and hoped that he didn’t look too bedraggled.

“Scuse me.” He drawled, and the minute the woman looked up he hit her with his most charming and non-threatening smile. Such a smile was equally difficult and easy for an experienced thief like Duke to pull off. It was hard because the long scar that cut through the left side of his upper and lower lip often gave the impression of danger, but the expression came to him like second nature. Despite this slight disadvantage Duke skillfully used his suave good looks and practiced charm on the poor woman.

“I have an early bus tomorrow morning. Would it be alright if I rested here for a while?” He asked, actively suppressing his thick Brooklyn accent to appear innocent. The woman looked him up and down, obviously taking in his expensive clothes and good looks before deciding that he wasn’t homeless and was therefore allowed to sleep in her station. Her stony expression turned to something closer to a slight smile and she gestured to the cushioned seats that he had been eyeing.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Duke winked at her and then strode over to the bench, this time avoiding the metal maze. He gratefully collapsed into the worn cushions and congratulated himself on his impeccable flirtation despite how insanely rusty and old he had felt the whole time. The now blushing woman returned to her book and Duke was left to his own thoughts in the peace and quiet of the empty station. He positioned himself on the bench so that he was watching the snow flurry uncontrollably, practically dancing about.

It was refreshing to see the world from a window that didn’t have bars on it. To be free to walk out into the snow and truly experience the world rather than the disappointing taste that was yard time. Sure he had technically been outside, but he had still been trapped. Five long years he had sat in a cell and contemplated what he missed about the world, what he missed about living. Sure he had enjoyed being one of the most notorious jewel thieves in the world, the life had been glamorous, fast-paced, and… empty. At the end of the line, he had been alone in that court room. His ‘Brotherhood’ had left him to rot in jail like a common cat burglar. It was cliche, but the experience of being arrested and imprisoned had changed him. The time had reawakened something in him that he had thought long dead, a piece of his childhood had taken root and flourished in the five years that he dwelled on it. It had taken him a whole year in the hole, getting into fights and generally raging at his circumstances before he realized that the change had taken root inside of him. His anger faded just as quickly as it arose and he spent days just remembering what life had been like in the small town of Isboro, sitting on his bunk and wishing that he could go back in time and change the course of his life. It wasn’t until a couple of days later when he was sulking in solitary for what felt like the millionth time, nursing a black eye and a split lip, that he realized that he didn’t have to go back to change the course of his life.

From that day on he had been a model prisoner, his gaze firmly fixed on the day that he would get out of that hellhole and head straight for his icy paradise. Just two days ago he had walked away from Rikers Island with only the clothes on his back and a small rucksack of his belongings that some faceless girlfriend had handed over to the cops after they had raided his apartment. What money he had left in the world he had used to book a bus ticket back to Minnesota. He had been determined to leave his dark past in New York and start fresh back in the one place that he had been truly happy.

Duke settled back into the scratchy cushions of the couch and let his eyes slowly drift closed. He may have next to nothing, no way to get to Isboro apart from his own two feet, and no idea what of his idyllic hometown would be the same when he got there... but he was on his way.

* * *

Coming home to Isboro hadn't always been… awkward for Mallory McMallard. At one time she had loved coming back to the sleepy little town nestled in the thick forests of Minnesota. She remembered very vividly coming home from her first tour of duty and finding relief and peace in those wide-open spaces. She had savored the quiet and the simplicity of the small town and it had become a place of rest and recovery before she was once more itching to get back into the service. It wasn’t until now, after her third and longest tour of duty that she felt imprisoned in Isboro. Suddenly she felt vulnerable out in those wide-open spaces. Everywhere she looked people were greeting her, touching her, getting too close.

MUCH too close. 

She had been out shopping with her mother exactly once since she had come home. It was their little ritual and one of Mallory’s favorite pastimes and she had been looking forward to it. She had been filled with that familiar happy bubbly sensation for the entire drive, but the moment she stepped out of the car things had gone downhill. The slam of her mom’s car door had made her jump with a sudden jolt of fear and she found herself pressing up against the vehicle, her green eyes frantically searching the busy main street for attackers. Her chest constricted and she opened her mouth to gasp for breath when she felt a warm, familiar hand on her arm. She jerked sideways, stumbling away from her mom who was looking at her with concern, her hand outstretched where Mallory had stood only moments before.

“Mally girl? You okay hun?” Her mom’s voice cut through her paranoia and suddenly Mallory realized that she was in her hometown not in an active combat zone. She was safe here. Mallory stood up, straightening her favorite maroon jacket that she had slipped over her favorite green crop top. She felt herself calming down but she couldn’t quite shake the feeling she was in danger. She gave her mom a shaky smile that was meant to comfort her but she could see the lingering concern in her mother’s slightly wrinkled face.

“Fine mom.” She forced out and linked her arm with her mother’s so she could lead her towards their favorite boutique: The Ugly Duckling. Once they were surrounded by clothes, jewelry, and makeup Mallory felt that weird tension in her body fading away. She was browsing some tops when a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind in a tight hug. Mallory immediately went into attack mode and she grabbed the arms around her with a bruising grip, digging her nails in until she heard a pained gasp and the arms let her go. Mallory immediately spun around and swept her leg out as she fell into a crouch. A body fell to the floor in front of her but she didn’t even register who it was as she scrambled back to a dressing room and scrambled for a weapon. She settled for a coat-hanger that she fit between her fingers as she pressed herself against the corner of the dressing room and tried to think over the cacophony in her mind.

Mallory felt her chest tightening in panic and she jerked violently against the changing room wall when someone started banging on the door. She tightened her grip on the coat-hanger and slid down until she was crouching on the floor, panting wildly and staring at a changing room door without even really seeing it. Her mind supplied the gunfire and explosions to the dressing room and Mallory squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to drown out the noise and focus. For a few more seconds that felt like an eternity, she focussed on the darkness of her inner eyelids and the pressure on her chest slowly began to fade, taking with it the sounds of gunfire and leaving behind the sound of frantic knocking on the door.

She slowly opened her eyes and caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror that took up one side of the wall. Mallory was shocked at what she saw. The young woman staring back at her looked haggard and scared, clutching a freaking clothes-hanger like it would protect her from anything. She let her ‘weapon’ drop and rubbed her aching fingers. She had been holding it so tightly that her fingers echoed with the pain of her white-knuckle grip. She ran a hand through her sweat-damp red locks and shakily got to her feet, shuffling towards the door so that she could unlock it.

She came face to face with her frantic mother, a concerned shop owner, and a frightened-looking girl that she vaguely remembered from high school. Ignoring their onslaught of questions she all but collapsed into her mother’s arms.

“Can we go home, mom?” She asked quietly, speaking into her mother’s greying hair and basking in the familiar embrace of her mom.

She hadn’t really left the house since then.

And here Mallory sat, decked out in her ultimate comfort-wear. She was wearing her fluffiest robe, her favorite slippers, and her red hair was wrapped up in a towel. She was perched on her childhood bed, painting her nails as she waited for her face mask to finish its work at relaxing her. In the background, she had Clueless playing. Despite all of this, she was still restless, unable to fully relax and feel at home. 

She glanced out of her window and watched as a light dusting of snow drifted down to coat the town of Isboro in its white blanket. She let the gentle dance mesmerize her and a tentative calm washed over her. Her eyes grew heavy and she barely had time to turn off her bedside lamp before she was overtaken by sleep.

* * *

The peaceful silence of one of Isboro’s many culdesacs was broken rather unceremoniously by the slam of a car door and a few whispered curses as Tanya Vanderflock wrestled her overflowing messenger bag out of her car and onto her coat-clad shoulder. She let out a little huff at the extra weight of the bag before diving back into her Subaru to retrieve a haphazard stack of papers, notebooks, and folders. Clutching the precious mess to her ample chest, Tanya closed her car door with her hip and used her one free finger to lock the little car. She carefully made her way up her driveway and front steps, self-consciously looking down at the ground in an attempt to avoid slipping in the thin layer of freshly fallen snow. The storm was growing thicker with her every step and she shuffled faster when she saw that the snowflakes were beginning to dampen her papers.

Tanya finally made it under the cover of her modest porch and took a second to let out a frustrated huff of breath before deciding to brave the chaos of her purse in search of her house keys. It was slow going as her increasingly numb fingers fished around in a sea of receipts, pens, gum, allergy medications, and about a million different chapstick flavors. She cursed colorfully again, this time slipping into Russian, and her pale face screwed up in frustration as her searching became more aggressive. After what felt like an eternity in which she had yet to find her keys, her front door yanked open to reveal her younger sister Leona, clad in her winter pajamas, a face mask, and bunny slippers. She was clutching a cup of cocoa and for a moment the two just stared at each other, Leona in judgment and Tanya in exasperation.

“Well, are ya gonna, ya know, help me?” Tanya finally broke the silence between them. Leona merely rolled her eyes and awkwardly snatched Tanya’s purse from where it was dangling on her arm. Tanya rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be ushered into her own home by her much younger sister who was living in her basement.

After making sure she was relatively clear of snow, Tanya abandoned her boots and the door and slid over to her kitchen table in crazy sock-clad feet. Today she had been assigned one frog sock and one hot dog sock. She abandoned her pile on the kitchen table and tossed her messenger bag into a chair with less care now that she was indoors. She made her way into the kitchen where Leona was waiting with a mug of hot chocolate and marshmallows identical to the mug she cradled gingerly in her own hands. She watched as Tanya awkwardly struggled to unzip and she’d her puffy purple winter jacket, her face straining as she held back laughter. When she was finally free of the purple marshmallow Tanya tossed it over a barstool. She snatched up her waiting cocoa and cuddled the warm mug close as she took a tentative sip. The two leaned against the kitchen counter for a while, just enjoying the comforting drink as Tanya recovered from the bone-deep chill of a Minnesota winter.

The two painted an interesting picture in the modest kitchen of Tanya’s house. Tanya was tall and curvaceous with pale skin and golden curls that she piled on top of her head. Her curly mop had evolved over the years until she had gotten tired of it and had shaved the sides and back of her head so that her curls balanced precariously on the top of her head, occasionally spilling over in an attractive, if not slightly messy, style. Tanya wore her signature purple round-framed glasses over her blue-grey eyes. She looked every bit of her Russian heritage personified.

Across from her, Leona was petite with honeyed skin and dark hair that fell in long strands over her shoulders and down her back. Her brown eyes remained uncovered and frustratingly (for Tanya) perfect. Leona was a complete anomaly in the family of tan blondes but the moment she had been brought home by the Vanderflock parents at 3 years old, she had somehow fit perfectly. Though they didn’t share blood, Tanya and Leona had developed a kind of unbreakable bond unique to sisters. It was through this bond that they were able to exchange a silent conversation right there in the kitchen.

‘You’re home late’ Leona said with a raised eyebrow and slightly pursed lips.

‘There’s not enough time in the day’ Tanya replied with a heavy sigh and a slight slumping of her shoulders. Leona chose to remain silent and took the rare opportunity to observe her older sister when she was still. Tanya was usually running around doing one thing or another at home and work so it was often hard to get her to stand still long enough for Leona to get a read on her. Now, however, she could see the lines of exhaustion etched into her sister’s face. They were deep and Leona frowned her concern at her sister.

‘You okay?’ She asked with a slight frown and a deep furrow of her brow.

“I’m fine.” Tanya broke their silence with a wave of her hand and a yawn, “I’m just, ya know, tired is all.”

Frustrated with the brush off, but unwilling to push Tanya, Leona stubbornly stared down at the chocolate depths in her mug, hoping that it held the answer of how to help her sister. The hot cocoa stared back, silent, and unhelpful.

“Is he asleep?” Tanya asked after a long drink of cocoa. Leona shrugged and copied her long sip with an even longer one.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tanya huffed grumpily, unconsciously popping her curvy hip to one side and resting one long-fingered hand on it. Leona rolled her eyes at the familiar pose and grinned into her hot chocolate.

“It means that I put him to bed a couple of hours ago but I can’t guarantee that he’s asleep.” She said sassily and pushed away from the counter and headed back to the living room where her nest of blankets sat waiting in front of the TV, which flashed with the colorful opening credits to yet another Disney movie. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Tanya exit the kitchen a few seconds later, sans mug, and head for the stairs.

“Night.” She called distractedly, not even tearing her eyes away from the screen in front of her.

Tanya rolled her eyes at Leona’s blanket-covered form but her smile gave away her lack of real annoyance. She called back her goodnight and trudged up the stairs with what little energy she had left in her body. She walked quietly down the narrow hall until she reached the door at the end of the hall. It was covered in stickers and hand-drawn signs claiming that a TOP SECRET lab lay beyond the door. Tanya felt a tired but fond smile spread over her face, softening it. She slowly and quietly opened the door to reveal the cluttered bedroom of her four-year-old son.

She picked her way through the mess of toys on the floor and over to the Spaceship bunk bed that she and her father had spent hours assembling. She rested her arms on the railing that came to about her chest and leaned on it. The blanket covered form let out an excited wiggle and an exaggerated snore that she was very familiar with.

“Buzz....” she sighed fondly and grabbed the bundle of blankets, pulling it down to reveal the grinning face of her little boy. His usually spiked blonde hair lay flat on his head and his blue-green eyes squinted at her from his cherubic, glasses-less face. She gave him an unimpressed grin and he sat immediately sat up and wrapped his little arms around her neck like a koala bear.

“Mommy!” He cried out excitedly and Tanya couldn’t help but hug him back. When he finally pulled away she fixed him with her best interrogation look.

“We’re you good for Aunty Leona?” She asked and received an equally serious little nod in reply.

“Then why are you, ya know, still awake?” She fired back, but instead of looking contrite another bright, innocent smile broke out on his face.

“I was waiting for you, Mommy.” And just like that Tanya was defeated. Her heart melted and she laid him back down in bed, running her long fingers gently through his hair in a soothing motion.

“Well, that was very no- nob- sweet of you honey.” She stuttered slightly as her throat closed up with emotion, “But you need your sleep for ice skating lessons tomorrow.”

She smiled when she saw Buzz’s eyelids drooping sleepily as he held back a stubborn yawn. The yawn broke free of his hold and g he e tried to talk through it, resulting in an almost unintelligible protest.

“But I’m not tired.”

Tanya chuckled good-naturedly and kept running her fingers through his hair. Buzz pouted adorably and nuzzled his face into her arm.

“Can I have a story?” He mumbled against her skin.

Tanya could tell that he was already mostly asleep but she decided to indulge him nonetheless. “What do you want to hear tonight?”

“Mighty Ducks.” He crowed out sleepily and Tanya let out a full belly laugh at that.

“But you hear about them almost every night. Are you sure?” She watched as her son nodded vigorously and looked up at her with those big pleading eyes.

“All right.” The minute she gave in he burrowed further under his warm blankets and peered up at her from the depth of his big fluffy pillow.

“Once upon a time there was a hockey team in Isboro called the Mighty Ducks. They were the best team of them all... because they were a family.”


End file.
